Stay Away from Pleasure

Chapter Three

12:13PM

Two slowly ticking minutes remain until my lunch break. I'm at my desk, flicking through the last ones standing out of my unread emails. I have allowed myself to indulge in what people call being in the zone. My hands move faster and I start to work quicker and try to get everything done.

Of course I'll say that my method of working is rather efficient and practical. I organise things perfectly so I always know what I should be doing every hour I'm at work. Unfortunately today, I have more stupid emails to get through than I thought I did. Normally by now, I'm packing up and getting ready to go out for my lunch, but instead, I'm still sat on this devil of a seat that seems to be getting paid to make my back ache.

Ha! It's Friday today. It should be the easiest (and the best) day of the week, but for me, it's the most stressful and painful because of my poor back.

12:15PM

I should be out by now but here I—

My phone buzzes. It's Claire.

It buzzes again.

The first message says: 

Hi! I forgot when your lunch break starts. Oops! Can you call me soon?
Claire x

The second says: 

I'm sorry if I interrupted anything! I know you're really busy when you're working. You're like Wonder Woman!
Haha. Only kidding.
Call me!
Claire x

This has to stop. I call her immediately and she answers just as quick.

Before I even say anything, she's already doing that annoying squeal down my ear.

"Oh my God, sis! You finally called me!"

She is truly the life of the party.

You'd think she was a sixteen year old girl, but no! She's three years older than me. She's the older one!

"Hi Claire," I sigh, trying to conceal the buzzing in my throat because I want to scream just as loudly as she did.

"You don't seem happy. What's wrong?" She huffs

"Nothing. I'm just busy right now. I'm behind on my work and—"

"You're behind on work? What's happened?"

"I just started a few minutes later than I usually do, so I'm a little behind schedule." 

More like a lot behind schedule.

"Alright well, get back to work then. We can meet when you're done."

Oh no. I have a date when I'm done. Obviously, I can't tell her that. Her big mouth will go blabbing to everyone, then it will get to my mother and father and then I'll be sent back to Michigan and I'll live with my parents until they find me someone to marry (if they feel generous and don't let me just die alone). They don't think I should be dating at the moment. I'm doing so well here at work so I shouldn't be worrying about men. My father always used to tell me: Stay away from pleasure; it is temptation masked as fruit — and that most men nowadays are spawns of Satan, but that's clearly just an exaggeration. 

I have always remembered that, ever since he told me eight years ago. It was on my sixteenth birthday right before I fell asleep and the day was over. And the words never seem to stop ringing in my ears whenever I'm struck by the wrath of temptation — stay away from pleasure...

He came into my room and tucked me in like he did when I was six. He gave me a whole speech on how I was growing and my body was changing and how I would have "needs" and "desires" but, most importantly, I could do something about it. I could openly have sex without giving a rat's ass. He knew that and tried his best to make sure I kept my legs shut. He got to me in the end.